Wandering Home
by Aelia O'Hession
Summary: The Goddess guides us in everything we do. When three people show up on the threshold of Hadrian's Wall, it is time for the Knights to decide what is truly worth living for. But that can be harder than any task of Rome.
1. Prologue

**Wandering Home**

**By: Aelia O'Hession**

**Prologue**

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the King Arthur character, places, etc. I am a poor history student. I have nothing to give you, so suing is out of the option. Sorry. However, my original characters are mine, though some are slightly under sub-contract. But no need to get into the technical terms.

**A/N: **This thought has been bouncing around in my head for a while. This is a trail run. I'm not sure if it will be continued or not. I'm going to rely on you, dear readers to give me a yay or nay.

**Prologue**

A crisp chill began to settle in as evening fell. It was the kind of chill that makes travelers pull their cloaks closer. The forest is vibrant with the changing autumn colors glinting with dew in the fading light. The early autumn leaves fall softly to the forest floor, disturbed only by the scurry of little field mice. Gentle silence enfolds this forest, the natural rhythms of life constantly flowing. Birdsong floats by, and the calls of wolves echo though the stillness of the evening. But there is another presence here this evening.

Cloaked and hidden beneath hoods, three figures make their way along the half hidden narrow path. They exchange no conversation as they pass along; nothing needs to be said. They are trying not to disturb the flow of life here. These figures are merely passing through. Despite the solemn image that these three strike, there are hints of vibrancy.

From beneath a cloak of deep russet, a few honey colored wisps of hair peek out. Bright copper curls fight the restraint of a storm blue cloak. The forest green cloak flashes a hint of deep auburn hair.

These possessors of hidden vibrancy move with purpose. Their boot clad feet move with surety along one of the many paths that the Mother Goddess has placed before them. Their thoughts resound as a mantra to the Goddess. _Though we have cursed ye, though we have turned our backs on ye, we have not forgotten ye. Ye are our Mother, the one who guides us through all. We shall not forget ye, even when it seems as though ye have abandoned us. We three are yours, and as we will, so mote it be._

Emerging from the serenity of the forest, they are met by an open hilly field. The emerald grass tumbles along with the rolling hills before it stopped by a wall. This wall is no mere farmer's wall designed for keeping the sheep in their grazing pastures. Hadrian's Wall; a formidable structure designed to keep things out. This sturdy stone wall runs the width of the island. Behind it, the most famous Knights are garrisoned. The legendary Arthur Castus rules here, under the influence of the world dominating Romans.

The forest green cloak motions to the Wall. A nod of agreement comes from the russet and storm blue. This is their destination. After long months of hard travel in a foreign land, they have reached a place that may offer refuge to them. They are not running; they are taking action against what could be the death of them.

_Goddess Mother, Creator f All, this is our plea. Guide us through these times of heartache and fear. We ask Elen of the Ways to guide us along this path we walk. Though our feet may wander, we will always come back to you. As we will, so mote it be! _


	2. Discovery

**Wandering Home**

**Tracy137:** Hello again! Nice to see you! Assassination? Who do you take me for woman? Honestly, what do you expect from me? And as far as the Knights go, you're 1/3 right. So, good luck trying to figure out the other 2/3. Break up the dynamic duo of Van and Bors? I don't seem that daft, do I? You need not fear the life of your book. It will be safe. I'm not going to be writing a book any time soon. I do like leaving people in suspense when I write these short chapters that don't give any information away. It makes me feel powerful.

**June Birdie: **Welcome! Nice to hear from you! I love seeing new reviewers. I got you curious did I? Well, that was the whole point. LOL. Hope I keep seeing you here!

**MedievalWarriorPrincess:** Hello! It intrigues you does it? Well that's wonderful to hear. And to be quite honest with you, I have no idea where this is going to go. I'll just let the characters do their thing and see how it works.

**Julianna Edwards: **HA! I have captured you! There is no escaping! LOL. Anyway, it is ironic is it not? I know you'll keep me on my toes when it comes to terrible characterization.

**Barbara: **Aww…yay! I love it when I get something authentic feeling. Has a nice warm and fuzzy feeling. And as you are very aware, tense is my issue. I'm sure there are tense issues abound here. Try not to hate me.

Now enough of me. On to what you really came here for.

**Chapter 1: Discovery**

Slowly, with as much caution s they could muster, these three made their way to the gate. It seemed a shame that there was no side entrance where they could slip in without being noticed. The last thing they wanted t do was broadcast the truth that they were refugees, looking for a home.

"Ye are absolutely sure that there is not another entrance?" the forest green cloak demanded of the storm blue one. "Absolutely sure?"

"Aye, for the hundredth time this eve!" the storm blue cloak said in exasperation.

"Just be thankful that there is the cover of darkness; otherwise we'd have bigger issues."

Both cloaks snapped their heads in the direction of the russet one. They stood at a stalemate before conceding to the logic of Russet.

As they approached, the sound of thundering hooves broke the peaceful silence of the evening. Dashing to the wall, they pressed themselves against it, waiting for the riders to approach. In pale moonlight, the Knights of Arthur Castus can be seen, striking an impressive image. The three figures slunk deeper into the shadows, trying at all costs not to be seen. Dust and wind stirred as the Knights galloped past this little nook. The heavy door of Hadrian's Wall creaked open, and in the wake of the horses, three figures scurried in.

The sights and sounds of the Wall at night hit these three with untold force. The sheer size of the fort is astounding. Hundreds of people living one place, all sharing the same space. From the marketplace, shop keepers are calling last call for goods. The taverns are starting to get into full swing.

Russet turns to Forest and Storm. "Áit?" she questions. She has no idea where they are supposed to go from here.

"Well I for one am am starving," Storm says before heading off to the taverns. She stops after a few feet and asks, "Are ye coming or not?"

A groan escapes Forest's mouth as she and Russet head off behind Storm. Reaching the warm glow of the fire around the central tavern, Strom casts off her hood, revealing long abundant bright copper curls that go past her waist. Slinging her small pack to the ground, she hops up and sits on a table. Russet comes up beside, drops her pack by Storm's and pulls off her hood a well. She has wavy honey hair that reaches her bit past her shoulders.

Forest is the last one to approach the table. She is the most cautious in this new place. Inwardly she smiles at Storm's forward actions, but outwardly she shakes her head. This small action causes her hood to fall back to show her deep auburn hair that flows straight down to her mid back. "Ye have to make a show?"

Diplomatically, Russet says, "Don't be over harsh on her."

"Siúr," Storm says. "When have I been one to follow convention? I'm not about to jump around and make a scene if that is what ye are worried about." Her storm blue eyes that matched her cloak glinted mischievously.

Forest eyed her sister worriedly and quirked an eyebrow. There were a thousand different things that Storm could do that would compromise their unobtrusive existence here. The plan was to simply blend into the community and make it seems as though they had been here the whole time. But knowing Storm's propensity to wander off the path, Forest feared that they would be found out. A refugee never wanted to find out the Roman answer to refugees.

"You there!"

All three heads snapped in the direction of the voice which called out to them. Striding towards them was a Roman guard. The three women recognized his as one of the guards that had been guarding the Gate when they had snuck in behind the Knights.

"What are you three doing here? We don't want any refugees here."

The three sisters looked at each other, silently forming a plan. Like caged animals they waited while the Roman approached. He was saying something, but they heard not a word. Survival was their plan right now, and all were willing to follow through with it.

"Where to you three belong? Who's your master?"

All of them bristled at that comment. They were the slaves of no one. Not now, not ever. By the blessings of the Goddess they had remained free from Roman enslavement. As the Roman closed in on Russet, she flicked her hand so minutely that anyone was sure to miss the signal. But Forest and Storm saw it and bolted. The Roman was confused for just long enough that Russet had a space to get by. Cloaks fluttering, they splintered in various directions.

Forest dashed for the closest building she saw. It was the stables that she found herself inside. Carefully glancing around, she made sure that there was not a Roman in sight. Slowly she made her way around the inside of the stable. The scent of horses and hay was comforting to her. It smelled just like childhood; always running around the village stable, teasing the stable boys. She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered all those times.

"Too la roo…" a voice broke the silence. Forest ducked down behind a stall, watching closely. From one of the stalls, a man emerged, dressed simply.

"All this work, and I never get credit," the man mumbled. "It's not so bad I suppose. It's good work; better than some I've had."

Forest relaxed when she realized that it was just a squire muttering to the horses. She settled down in the stables, wanting a few moments peace while her sisters were running around. Goddess knew that she would need some patience if she had to get them out of any trouble. The last thing she wanted to explain right now was why she was hiding in the stables.

Russet on the other hand was trying to avoid every singe Roman in the tavern area. After giving the signal to Forest and Storm, Russet had slipped by. Those few little seconds of confusion, she had ducked behind him and ran. Every Roman in the place was on his feet, trying to figure out where three young women got to. Looping around the back, Russet dashed into the washroom of the tavern. She ran head long into a woman with an armful of mugs. Everything went everywhere, mugs clattered to the ground and some shattered.

"Hey now, watch yourself lass!" the redheaded woman said.

"I'm so terribly sorry! Here, let me help ye clean up." Russet immediately went down and began to clean up the mess she had caused this woman.

She studied Russet for a moment. "You're not from around here, are you?" the redhead inquired. Her curiosity was struck up due to the young woman's accent and style of clothing. There was something, different, but at the same time, comforting.

"Nay, I'm not." Russet eyed the woman, trying to figure out this woman's intentions. She could be potentially dangerous, but yet not.

Just then, a small army of children came bustling in. "Mum, mum! Gilly punched me! Number 5 is biting me! Four pushed me into the pigpen!" Thousands of complaints came issuing forth.

"Alright, just wait a moment, will you?" The redhead surveyed the group. Would she ever get a moment's peace from this lot? 'I've got to work…"

Russet looked the scene over. Obviously the woman was the mother of all these rambunctious children, and she needed a moment to settle whatever crises needed to be solved. "Here, let me clean all of this up while ye tend to your children."

The woman looked at Russet, completely baffled. "You'll… oh… alright. Sure. I'll be back in a moment. The name's Vanora by the way."

While Russet was dealing with the finer points of managing work and motherhood, Storm was whipping through the fort, trying to find somewhere that the bloody Romans were not. Her feet brought her to a small building, seemingly used for storage. Checking it see of there was anyone of authority around, Storm ducked in.

Before her eyes was one of the most wonderful sights she had seen. An entire armory glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window and door. An array of swords, daggers, bows, pikes, armor and everything else imaginable was there. She could not resist the temptation to touch at least something. A dirk with a Celtic knot for a pommel caught her attention. To her, it was more beautiful than any regal jewelry. Back home, she had watched many a smith craft something like this, and she had always longed to learn the craft.

Taking the dirk down from the wall, she began to go through practice motions. She had been informally taught some aspects of combat, but she was mainly self-taught. With natural rhythm, Storm began to move in patterns, wielding the dirk. It was a small guilty pleasure for her to be able to access weapons. She had a fighting dirk, but nothing as beautiful or efficient as the one in her hand.

As she traced intricate step patterns in the dusty ground with her boot clad feet, Storm was oblivious to the world around her. Only when the door lock clicked open did she stop, freeze, then dart behind a pile of armor.

It was the Knight's squire again. He seemed to be doing a routine check on the armory. "At least everything is in place. Clean, organized; just like it should be. Probably the work of Dagonet or Tristan." His eyes wandered over the area once more, lingering slightly longer of the pile of armor that Storm was behind. "Must get rid of that old armor. Doesn't fit anyone anymore," he muttered before walking out.

Once the old wooden door had slammed shut, Storm breathed a deep sigh of relief and climbed out from behind the pile. Her curiosity intrigued by this squire's words. It seemed to her that this fort was an unusual place; one where the Roman influence was not too severe.

"Must go find my siúrs. I wonder what they've been up to. This place is most curious." Storm quietly snuck out and began to wander the fort as though she had always been there. There was something to be said about the ability to blend in.

It wasn't long before she came upon her sisters. They were seated at a table in the Tavern. The packs that they had dropped were still there, undisturbed.

"Siúr fáilte," Forest said dryly to Storm. "Wonderful of you to join us once again. And what have you been up to?" She eyed her sister in her usual fashion; not scolding but not mockingly either.

Storm flashed the dirk. "Look what I nicked from the armory! Lovely piece is it not?"

"You did what!" Forest snapped. "Do you know…"

She never had time to finish her sentence. An official looking Roman was walking towards them flanked by the Knights. The Knights themselves looked less than thrilled to be doing this. They all looked at each other, silently asking if they actually had to go through with this.

"You three are illegal refugees here at Fort Hadrian in the Roman land of Britain. As such, it is out duty to try you and punish you as seen fit by Rome and the Holy Father the Pope." The man motioned to the Knights. "Take them to the Round Table." When the Knights merely walked over and placed strong hands on the women's shoulders, the official said, "And don't pity the wenches. They shall get what they deserve."

**Gaelic Lesson #1**

Áit where

Siúr sister

Siúr fáilte welcome sister

**A/N: ** I know, I was evil and put a cliffie. It's called writer's prerogative.


	3. Will You Keep Us

**Wandering Home**

**Tracy: **Oh how little you know me! See, the beauty about the parings this time is that they will have everyone guessing as to who belongs with who. : p And yes, you can say I'm evil because of it. I like keeping these women hidden mist for a while; makes the reader think a little bit. And yes, Romans are filthy scum. Too bad they've already been cleansed from the world or I would have suggested a war on the Romans. LOL. And as to something you said in an email…I pale in comparison to what you write! You're about a BILLION times better than I! NO! I will not hear otherwise!

**Julianna Edwards:** Well, considering how much you have told me, what else can I really say? Favorite character is Forest, eh? I wonder why? Anyway, glad to know that you like learning about the characters through dialogue. I think it really helps.

**Barbara:** We all know that tense likes to bite me. Who am I kidding? There will always be tense issues. See the response to Jules about the whole learning through dialogue thing.

**Chapter 2: Will You Keep Us?**

None too kindly, the Roman officer had the Knights drag the women through the passageways of the fort. Forest, Storm and Russet were none to happy about it either. The whole way they put up a tremendous struggle, trying to break free of the strong grips the Knights had on them. A few times they had almost managed to escape, but the Roman guards would strike them and force them back to the Knights.

When the small procession reached its destination, all three of the women had bloody knees, bruised faces and skirts even more tattered than they had been before. The Knights stood grimly behind them, ashamed of what they had taken part in. The Roman stood there, smug as ever, happily taking part in the removal of refugees.

The doors before them were flung open wide, slamming their handles on the stone walls on the other side. The three women tilted their heads to the side when they saw the inside of the room. In the very center was a round table. Its design was that of both Roman and Pagan influence. It seemed that once upon a time it sat more Knights than were present.

Quite unceremoniously, the three were flung to the floor by the Roman guards. After picking themselves up from the floor, they encountered one of the most frightening things they had ever seen. Before them stood the Roman magistrate who lived in a villa here at Hadrian's Wall. He was the ugliest man they had ever seen. His face held no warmth; only hatred for the women standing before him. The Roman stood there in a pose that suggested that he expected them to pay him homage. Apparently he did not understand who these women were.

"You will kneel before the Magistrate," one of the Roman guards said.

They stayed silent, sizing up the authority figure in front of them.

"Why are you not waiting until Arthur returns?" one of the Knights asks the Roman magistrate.

The Magistrate gave a grunt to the Knight with long wild hair. "He knows not how to deal properly with wild refugees. This is my area of….expertise." He turned back to the women. "Now, if you cooperate, this will go much better for you. Keep silent, and you will know the true meaning of Roman justice." He paced a few steps. "Tell me, who are you? Where are you from? Come now, these are not hard questions."

Forest, Storm and Russet looked at each other. There was no way in the name of the Goddess that they were going to speak. It would be the denial of all that they had learned. Resolutely they stood, bracing for the worst.

"Speak!" the magistrate demanded. When silence followed his command, he struck the nearest woman, Russet. She swayed where she stood, but she was too stubborn to collapse beneath the blow of a Roman; a Roman who held no power over her.

_Goddess, grant me the strength to persevere through these trying times. He may have the strength to break my body, but he will never have the strength to break my will. I willing travel down the path you have set before me. For in the times of greatest Darkness there is the greatest Light. _

"This will be easier for you all if you merely speak. Do not pretend that you do not understand, for I know you understand full well." The magistrate paced angrily in front of them.

Off to the side, the Knights watched in horror. Though they had seen the Roman Magistrate work before, they had never seen his like this. Each one of them longed to interfere, but they knew to do so would cost them their life. They could not understand why the magistrate insisted that the women be questioned now. Arthur Castus, the commander of the fort at Hadrian's Wall was the one in charge and logically, he should be the one conducting a questioning session of these women. As the Magistrate hollered and slapped the women about, the Knights all shuddered and tried not to watch the scene before them.

"Now tell me," the Roman Magistrate cooed, "what are your names and where do you come from?"

Then, Storm boldly stepped forward to speak. What came out of her mouth was not what the magistrate wanted to hear at all. "Tá sibh ocras. Géillimid bia?" Her voice lilted musically over the Gaelic language. The Knights looked at the woman with the copper fire curls. What had she just said?

"Fáth ceistímid muid? Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar." Her musical lilt brought a smile to the faces of the Knights. It brought them back to a time when their sisters, mothers, or even just a woman of their clan in Sarmatia had spoken their native language.

The Roman Magistrate glared at Storm. He was quite displeased that she was speaking in a tongue that he could not understand. Finally, his patience wore thin and he slapped her across the face. He gave her a smug smile when he saw that her mouth had started to bleed from the strike.

"Lock them up in the dungeons," he commanded. "Perhaps after a few days down there they will be…more willing to speak. Remove them." He waved his hand and then turned away. The Roman soldiers were more than willing to obey the magistrate's orders. He was a Roman and they were Roman; it was a natural order of things.

The soldiers seized Forest, Storm, and Russet and began to drag them across the stone floor. "By the way," the Magistrate purred from the far wall, "I am sure that these accommodations will be to your liking. Very much like the hovels you lived in where ever you came from."

Forest spat in the general direction of the Magistrate. While she was unable to hit him, her consolation prize was that she managed to hit one of the Roman soldiers. Putting up a rather nice struggle, the Romans removed the three women with a bit of difficulty. As they were shoved along the halls of the fort, many of the servants who were going about their daily chores had to look at what was passing them by. There were mutterings of how when Arthur was around, such things never took place. They warily stayed out of the path of the Romans, bent on the destruction of those whom they considered inferior.

The final destination of Forest, Storm and Russet was the dingiest little dungeon cell that existed in all of the Roman states. It was dark and dank, not a single thread of light could come in. The stench of rotting flesh reached their nostrils and they had to gag on the smell. On the walls there were stains of old torture sessions; drips of brown blood and smears of melted flesh.

"Ah, the best money can buy," Forest muttered once the grate was locked shut and the guards had wandered off. "Shall we make this our summer home?"

Russet shook her head. "I hear there is much better hovels out in the rural lands of Gallia. Those at least have woods nearby, which I believe sister, would be much more to your liking."

While the dull hours of the women's lives passed, the Knights held council with themselves nearly every day. The conversation held the same general direction and the same conclusions were reached.

"I do not care for the imposing nature of this Magistrate," Gawain said. "His manner annoys me."

Dagonet, with his large frame reclining in his chair, sat up. "I like less how he treats those women. Refugees they may be, and laws he may need to follow, but to abuse them thusly is out of any moral justification."

All of the Knights turned their heads to look at Dagonet. "Once again he says something that leaves the rest of us speechless," dark Lancelot remarked. "But he does prove a point."

Fiddling with the apple in his hand, Tristan spoke. "I agree with Dagonet. The welcome that our dear Romans have shown these women it not acceptable."

"There's nothing that we can do about it," Bors angrily said. "Only Arthur has the power to overrule these Romans." He slammed a meaty fist on the table.

"So we just wait for Arthur to return? Do we leave them to misery for an untold amount of time?"

All the heads turned to Galahad. His anguish was tangible; these women were closet in age to him. "Galahad, we are powerless without Arthur," Gawain soothed. "We have no title except Knight, and little good that does us when we have no commander who _has_ the power to tell us to right some wrong."

With a grey cloud over their heads, the Knights filed out of the room; all hoping that Arthur would return soon. But while the Knights hoped for salvation, the women hoped for a swift end.

"It would be better if it were over now," Storm bleakly said into the darkness one day. "I'm sick of waiting."

"Have hope siúr," Russet scolded. "It does not bode well when the fighter of our trinity begins to see only rain." She gave a push at Storm's shoulder. "Why the despair, siúr?"

Storm gave a heavy sigh. "It just seems that there will never be light again. After all that we have been through, it seems as though this is the end. I wish for serenity again. Do ye remember what it was like living in Cahiraveen? The beauty and the peace of the coast and just how we lived as one with the turning seasons? I want to have that again. I mean not to sound like a spoilt child, but that is where I would like to return to."

"Ye speak the hearts of all of I believe, siúr. Ye were the most connected to that place." Silence followed Forest's words. All of them remembered the times that were spent in the costal village of Cahiraveen.

The clank of keys and the scraping of the grate brought them out of their reverie. Dagonet's large frame bent down and looked at the women. "Arthur has returned. You are to go before him." Easily, as if the three were like children, Dagonet lifted them out of their dungeon pit. Gently he guided them back up to the world of light.

Forest, Storm and Russet all squinted at the sunlight. It had been nearly 3 weeks since they had seen the sun. Storm paused for a moment, basking in the forgotten warmth. Her copper curls glinted despite their lankness. Russets honey waves glinted like gold and she gave a small laugh at the sensation of comforting warmth. Forest reached for the closest bush and let the sunlight soak into her skin and auburn hair.

"Come," Dagonet said gently. "Arthur waits."

Storm reluctantly nodded and followed behind her sisters. They walked through those same halls that had welcomed them here to the fort the first time. When they entered the room where the round table stood, they noticed a change in the atmosphere. There was more warmth here; torches blazed in their wall sconces and there was not a Roman in sight.

Well, there was not a real Roman in sight. There was one man, who was standing who looked a bit Roman, but the three women could see something else there. "Ladies, welcome to Britain and the fort at Hadrian's Wall. I apologize for the previous treatment that you had to endure. Those responsible have been dealt with accordingly. Have you anything to say?"

Once again, Storm stepped forward and repeated the same words she had spoken the first time. "Tá sibh ocras. Géillimid bia? Fáth ceistímid muid? Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar."

"Must be important for her to repeat the same words as before," Lancelot remarked.

"Lancelot, quiet." Arthur turned his attention back to the women. "Ladies, we mean you know harm. If anything, we would like to protect you from what ever you are running from." He looked pleadingly at the three.

"How can you protect us from what is all around?" Forest spat. Everywhere I turn they are there; this inescapable force that refuses to go away!" Her green eyes blazed in fury.

"Of what do you speak?" Arthur was having a difficult time deciding if they were raving mad or actually had true concerns.

"These bloody Romans! They have been an inescapable plague everywhere we turn! What kind of life is that to live in fear of every moment?" Russet came forward and put a restraining hand on Forest.

"No, do not do this," she entreated. Russet turned to Arthur. "We are tired of all of this. If it is death you wish for us, make it a quick one."

"What don't you understand?" Arthur pleaded. "We want to help!"

"Ye have a strange way of showing it," Russet countered.

"Does your sister not speak our language," Galahad said suddenly, referring to Storm who had only spoken in Gaelic during the interview.

"I speak it, fear not boy." She walked around the table and flopped into one of the chairs. "I tire of this incessant arguing. Why keep at it like dogs?" She turned her gaze to Arthur. "What is it that ye wish to know? I'll speak. And do not try to silence me," Storm snapped at Forest. "It is best that we do this."

"First off, what is it that you said when you were brought before me?"

"I said that we are hungry and asked if ye would give us some food. Then I asked why ye are questioning us; we mean ye no harm."

Arthur collapsed into a chair facing Storm. "Alright, what are your names? Can I ask that, considering that you are the one leading this?"

Storm gave a wry smile. "I am Meara Deirdre O'Cearnaigh." Pointing at Forest she said, "My elder sister is Grainne Deirdre O'Cearnaigh. Then my little sister is Alannah Deirdre O'Cearnaigh." Russet gave a little wave. "What else do ye desire to know about us? But remember, I will only share what I feel is necessary at this juncture."

Arthur scratched at his head. These three women were infuriating. One moment they are wrathful and then they become complacent. He tried the next question which seemed innocent enough. "Where are you from?"

Meara paused for a moment. She mulled over all of the different possibilities that she could say. "Clifden in Erie or as you Romans call it, Hibernia. But we have moved often." She glanced at her sisters. It was time for the moment of truth. "If I may pose a query to you? Will ye keep us?"

All of the Knights were taken aback at the question. It was as though these women were testing them, trying to figure out their minds. 

"What games do you play with us?" Lancelot snapped. "Don't think for a moment that you can toy with us over small woman's issues."

Meara nearly leapt from the chair. "How dare ye say we are toying with ye! Think for one moment that it is because of a woman that you were brought forth into this world. WE understand more of your "manly politics" than ye care to realize. The clans still accept matriarchal rule; would ye turn a blind eye?"

"Besides," Grainne added, "We posses a higher intelligence than ye realize. Think what your lives would be like if there were no women to do the tasks that are required of us by you every day."

"Never again am I going to take Vanora for granted," Bors muttered under his breath.

"Better hope that these women don't meet Vanora or there might be a civil war here at the fort," Gawain remarked to Bors.

On the other side of the room Arthur stood clutching his head. It ached terribly from all the raised voices that were passing around. "Enough! Peace, please!" He turned to the three. "I will decide what to do with you on a more permanent basis in the morning. Meanwhile, I will have one of the maids show you to more acceptable quarters for the night. Have a restful sleep, for I know I will not." With that dismissal, he left everyone to stand around the Round Table.

"Until the morn then," Alannah said before following after her older sisters and the maid.

"Until the morn," the remaining Knights muttered back. These three would certainly add a bit of color to the fort if Arthur permits them to stay.

**Gaelic Lesson for the Day:**

Tá sibh ocras – We are hungry

Géillimid bia? – Will you give us food?

Fáth ceistímid muid? – Why do you question us?

Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar – We will do you no harm

Siúr – sister

Grainne – grain

Meara – sea

Alannah – darling child

Deirdre – daughter of the forest

O'Cearnaigh – victorious champion (clan name)


	4. Deliberations

**Wandering Home**

**A/N:** Sadly, I am unable to reply to all of you lovely people personally here anymore. I shall try my best to respond through the new regime that has been put in place. Have patience, it might take a while for me to get a handle on it all. I would just like to let all of you know that I greatly appreciate your reviews. They make a rather dreary day of work just a little brighter.

**On to the real reason why you all keep coming back!**

**Chapter 3: Deliberations**

The room that this nervous young maid led the three women to was more than they expected or what they were used to. The maid nervously announced that this room was at the end of the Knight's Hall. When the reached the room, they learned that it was more of a suite of rooms; small kitchen, a common room with fireplace, and a bedroom. It was starkly furnished in simple wooden furniture and the walls were open faced stone. It was complete with a layer of dust, indicating that it had not been used in a while.

"There's a hot bath waiting in the bedroom," the maid muttered, overwhelmed by the blank stares from the three women.

"Many thanks," Alannah replied gently. Seeing the girl hesitate, she said, "Ye can leave now if ye like."

The maid dropped a quick curtsey and nearly flew from the room.

Grainne raised an eyebrow. "Did she say 'hot bath'?"

"I do believe she did." Meara began pulling off her boots and tattered dress that was beyond repair. Not wanting to be outdone, Alannah and Grainne began pulling off their equally destroyed garments. With peals of childish laughter, the three ran the few short feet to the bath.

Slipping into the tub, they just let the hot water ease their achy muscles. Bits of weeks old grime began to lift away from their bodies. The cramped space of the dungeon had done nothing to improve upon their well being and made them even filthier than they had been during the time that they were running.

"Ahhhhh…" All three women sighed as the warmth washed over them. It was wonderful to actually have a bath.

After a few long minutes of intense scrubbing of flesh until it turned pink and washing out hair until it looked reasonable, Alannah spoke to her sisters.

"What do ye expect Arthur to do with us? It would be a terrible political move for him to kill us; all of the settlers here seem to admire him. But alas, at the same time, he must obey the Roman laws that bind him." She ran a comb through Meara's long wet curls.

"Ouch!" Meara's hand flew to the back of her head.

"Gabh mo leithscéal!" Alannah pleaded with her sister. "Your hair is just so long and curly…"

"Ye tugged, nothing more. My head merely aches from dealing with that impossible Roman." She wiped soap from her eyes and turned to Grainne. "Have ye any thoughts? Ye have been too silent on this issue, siúr."

"Simply wondering. Ala is right about the politics of it though. It could prove disastrous either way he chose." She paused for a moment, a look of thought on her face. "Though, despite the politics of the situation, those Knights may hold some sway where we are concerned."

"We can only hope," Alannah replied.

In a slightly removed section of the fort, the Knights were doing just that; trying to convince Arthur that letting the sisters stay and not kill them off was the best idea.

"So you would just cast them out and let them fend for themselves? The moment they walk outside those gates any Roman with half a mind would be after them to see them done with!" Lancelot pounded his fist on the table trying to drive his point home.

"Arthur, they have no home. Where are they to go?" Galahad looked at Arthur with that look of his that said, _We all have been taken from our homes. Would you condemn others to the same fate?_

"Galahad, it is not that simple! There are laws in place that I must follow!" Arthur sunk into a chair. "I know what morals drive me to do, but I also understand the laws that must also govern my actions."

"For one bloody moment forget the bloody laws!" Bors yelled in frustration. "Laws are all good an' well, but where women are concerned, it becomes a whole other issue. If they were men, I'd do as the law commanded me without a nod to morals. But they are women!"

As quietly as his deep voice allowed, Dagonet posed a question to Arthur. "Did you ever have a sister?" Arthur shook his head no. "Suppose for a moment then that you do. Would you want harm to befall her on account of a foolhardy man?" Dagonet dipped his head and whispered, "I know I would never wish that fate upon my sister."

All of the Knights looked at the large Knight. This was the most they had ever heard him speak of his family before. Even when they were young and as Knights in training, he barely ever mentioned home.

"I understand what you are trying to tell me, and I appreciate the viewpoint. But it is not that simple."

Gawain banged his forehead on the table. "Gods Arthur! How stubborn can you be? I know you won't kill them. But if you throw them aside, what is to say that they just won't come back?"

"These sisters are not dumb, Arthur." Arthur picked his head up when Tristan addressed him. He looked at the Scout curiously. Tristan continued. "Look at it; they managed to get into the fort without the Roman guards noticing, that's something. Then, if the Romans are to be believed, they managed to escape capture for a while after the first time a guard confronted them. They know how to survive. I commend them for getting this far."

Arthur sighed deeply. If only it were a simple choice where he did not have to worry about laws, politics and morals. Why was being a commander so bloody difficult?

In the middle of Arthur's rather deep concentration, the door to this little room slammed open, revealing a sturdy red headed woman in the doorframe. "Artorius Castus, what in the name of the Gods are you thinking? You want to leave these lasses to slaughter? I thought better of you."

Bors stepped forward. "Vanora, love, quiet. You'll raise the dead with all of this racket!"

"I'm not going to let him do it! I met one of those lasses Arthur. Sweet as can be. She cleaned up a disastrous mess in the Tavern so I could tend to the clan. I swear on this earth Artorius Castus, if you do anything besides keep them here, you will face my wrath." Vanora then turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

"What a little ray of sunshine in our dear Arthur's life," Lancelot quipped.

"Hasn't left him with much choice," Gawain added. "Though, in the end, we're not going to give him much choice, are we lads?"

"Conspiracy! Bloody conspiracy! You haven't even met them!" Arthur bellowed to his brothers in arms.

"They seem decent enough," Tristan remarked. "That's all that really matters. Besides, it might be nice to have women that can actually cook and not be hung down by an army of little ones."

Standing and knocking over his chair, Arthur bellowed, "You lot are impossible!" With that, he stalked out of the room.

"He'll come around," Dagonet said. "He has his entire family against him."

"What a lovely choice," Lancelot quipped again.

"Well aren't you the bloody master quips today," Galahad snapped. "Did you not get bedded last night?"

Lancelot made a swipe for Galahad's mop of hair. "One night you will find your lovely curls missing from your head and that poor excuse for a beard will be removed from your chin!"

Galahad looked at Lancelot in mock horror. "You wouldn't!" his hand flying to his head.

"Both of you, enough." Dagonet sternly reprimanded as if they were children. With glares aimed at Dagonet, the two Knights got up and filed out of the room. Everyone else followed, wondering just what Arthur was planning to decide.

Night had fallen the fort and most people huddling around fires to chase away the unusual biting cold. Annoyed with being cooped up like caged animals, the three sisters pulled on their tattered cloaks and began to wander around the fort.

"Why can't she just make up his bloody mind!" Meara steamed.

"Have patience," Alannah scolded her older sister. "Ye are not going to accomplish anything with all of this fuss."

"It is quite annoying, though."

Alannah glared at Grainne. "Oh, not ye as well! Ye could at least be a little supportive. Who knows what this one might do if we give her the space."

As they walked along the battlements of the fort, an almost unearthly wind began to build. It whipped through the open compound, rattling window shutters, doors, and knocking over just about anything that was not secure. The sister's clothing whipped about their ankles, their hair streaming in the wind.

Meara clambered up on to one of the battlements. Tossing aside her cloak, she lifted her arms up in greeting. In her lilting voice, she began to chant. "Winds of Change, stir these feeble hearts of men. Elen of the Ways, guide us all along the paths that our feet have chosen to tread. We ask this in the name of the Mother Goddess."

Meara began the chant again, only this time Alannah and Grainne added their voices to hers to create the ancient melody of invocation.

Down below, all of the Knights had gathered. Their curiosity was peaked by these strange women who were seemingly calling down this wind.

"What the Devil is this?" Arthur demanded. "What, in the name of God, are they doing?"

Dagonet put a firm hand on his commander's shoulder. "Just let them be."

Tristan nodded in agreement. "They need to hold on to their own culture in a new land. A sense of familiarity makes them more comfortable."

"You can't cast them aside Arthur," Gawain said. "They need to be here."

Arthur sighed resignedly. There was nothing else that he could do. Unless…

Slowly, the winds calmed and the sister's chant ceased. As they pulled on their cloaks, they noticed their audience down in the compound. Hurrying down the closest set of steps, they made their way to the group of Knights.

"Ladies, I have come to a decision."

"About time," Grainne muttered under her breath. She received a sharp jab in the side from Meara.

"Ladies," Alannah scoffed with a roll of her honey eyes.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I have decided to let you stay on a few small conditions." All three women looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You must submit you full names, location of birth, current age and a physical description of yourselves for our records here. Secondly, know this. You will be on probation for period of time." The three made noises of protest, but Arthur held up a hand for silence. "This means that you must prove yourselves to us. What I mean by this is that you must demonstrate a desire to blend with the community here and not fight against the system of law that we have in place here. After you have demonstrated this, you will be acknowledged as full citizens of this fort here at Hadrian's Wall."

The three stood there for a moment, absorbing everything that Arthur had said. It seemed as fair as he could make it for both the Romans and for himself. A look of consent was passed from sister to sister. They shoved Meara forward to speak, who glared back at her sisters. _Cowards_, she thought.

"We, the daughters of Erie and of the land of Clifden, born of the clan O'Cearnaigh submit to the terms that ye have set before us on this night."

"Welcome to the fort," Gawain added before Arthur could get a word in. "May your times be blessed."

**Gaelic Lesson!**

Gabh mo leithscéal – I'm sorry

Siúr - sister


	5. Romanization

**Wandering Home**

**A/N: **I apologize for untimely manner in which this comes to you. There has been so much work to get done and I have had to put my darling hobby aside for too long a time. Not to mention my laptop deciding to die and lose all the work I had done. But that's another tale you don't want to hear.

Now on to the tale you actually want to hear told…

**Chapter 4: Romanization**

Little can be said about the following weeks. Arthur's instructions to the sisters were quite clear. One toe out of line and they would be left to the mercy of the wild. Much to their chagrin, the rules that existed offered no room for bending or breaking. The Romans had an iron fist over the place. Outwardly, there was no hint from the common people of the fort that they still harbored the old ways.

"Bloody Christian and Roman movement," Alannah muttered one day while they were doing their wash at the river's edge. "They just can't wander in and expect everyone to obey them!" She angrily wrung out the skirt she was washing.

"An army will convince many to obey," Grainne pointed out. "Many would rather live under strict laws then be destroyed. People think of their families."

"Hrumph," Alannah said indignantly. "Meara," she implored of the middle sister.

Meara pushed her copper curls away from her face. "We must be cautious. Grainne speaks truly." She pulled out a length of leather cord and began to tie back her voluminous long curls. Under her breath, she growled at her wild hair.

Alannah gave her sister a scandalized look. "This, coming from a woman who almost became a warrior-priestess! Surely, the Shades cloud your judgment. So we are to abandon our way of life just to please some Roman pigs?"

"Mind your tongue," Grainne snapped. "If these Christians here ye talking so they'll hesitate not to make an example of ye."

Picking up her basket of wash, Meara began to walk away from her sisters.

"Where are ye off to?" Grainne called.

"I have some things to tend to." She crested the hill and was gone from sight.

"I still can't believe that she's asking us to give up our way of life."

Grainne eyed the youngest sister. Sometimes her innocence about politics was disturbing. "Don't ye start thinking about being a martyr. We've been through tougher times than these." With her simple piece said, Grainne gathered up her things and followed Meara's example, leaving Alannah to fume.

Goddess only knows how long Alanna sat by that riverbank before someone found her. It was Vanora, herding all of her children down for, what would hopefully be, a bath.

"Alright you lot, bath time," Vanora announced in a no-nonsense voice. "One, Two, come on, bath." Vanora looked at the six children that were assembled around her. How did she manage to get this many children? Then she remembered Bors' insatiable thirst. "Come on kids, get a move on."

The oldest two, aptly named One and Two, were running about, doing everything in their power to avoid a bath. The younger ones were just there, being pains.

Alannah looked up from moping in her wash to see Van trying to get the children to behave. She smiled slightly, but still furious at her older sisters. "Need some help?" she inquired.

The redhead turned around. "Ah, Alannah. Wonderful to see you. Yes, some help would be lovely."

Somehow, between the two of them, the women managed to get all the kids settled down and into the river for a bath. "Van, can I ask ye something?"

"Yes dear?"

"Does anyone at the fort uphold the old ways?" Alannah asked cautiously. She waited for Vanora to answer. She noticed how Van looked about her surreptitiously before answering.

"Tis best not to speak about it." She scrubbed one of the children's hair. "It is still practiced, but very discreetly. If the Romans ever knew, we'd all be murdered in our beds. We think of the children when we keep the old ways hidden." She saw the look of disbelief on the younger woman's face. "I know it doesn't make too much sense, but it's for the best."

Knee deep in river water, Alannah looked like a stunned deer. All she could do was blink at what Vanora had said. The concept of living in fear had never really been a part of her life. Her older sisters knew something of it, but not her.

"Come dear. Let's have some tea back at the fort while these little rascals take a rest." Herding all the children in front of her, Vanora took Alannah by the hand and brought her back to the fort. In the comfort of a warm fire to chase the autumn chill, Vanora began to explain to the young woman what it was like to live under occupation of a foreign power.

Meanwhile, Grainne was doing some work in the stables. She had asked Jols about getting some work, and he had gladly given her some. He has said that he understood what it was like trying to get your feet in a new place. So here was Grainne, working in the stables, trying to figure the best way to control her frustration.

"Well here's something new," a voice said behind her.

"Great, just wonderful," Grainne muttered when she encountered the face of Lancelot.

"What was that?" he asked.

In a tone not too far from disgruntled she said, "Can I help ye with something?"

"Yes, actually. Would you mind helping me with a little problem?"

She eyed the Knight suspiciously. Tact was clearly needed in case she got herself into something she could not get out of. "What kind of problem?" She was always wary when Lancelot came around. He was always up to something.

"It's a bit of a personal problem really. I was hoping that you could take care of it." He paused and flashed what he thought was a prize winning smile.

Rolling her eyes, she waved an absentminded hand at him. "Have one of the tavern wenches help ye with that. Nothing I can do for ye."

She turned back to her work and left a stunned Lancelot standing in a pile of old straw. There was no way that she was going to be one of those silly milksop wenches who gladly warm any bed.

Later that night, Grainne and Alannah found Meara sitting in their quarters bent over a blade. Her concentration was fixed on the metal between her hands as she worked the edge with a whetting stone.

"Where have ye been today," Grainne demanded of her sister, hands firmly planted on her hips.

"Working," she muttered while still working the blade.

Grainne peered at the blade. "Isn't that the blade you filched from that storeroom?"

"Mmm." Meara murmured absently. She ran her white calloused hands over the edge of the blade, drawing blood. "Much better," she said to herself.

"Meara Deirdre O'Cearnaigh!" Grainne bristled. "This is not the time for games! Do ye realize we're trying to make a life here?"

In a sudden flash of movement, Meara was up and held the newly sharpened blade to her own sister's throat. "I know better than ye what it means to try and make a life. If ye remember, the life I had was taken from me." She withdrew the blade, leaving a slight trail of blood. "Ye'd do best to remember what happened to me." Meara grabbed her storm blue cloak and left the room.

Alannah blinked at the spot where the middle sister had just threatened the eldest. "What just went on? Is there something that I have not been told?"

Grainne fiddled with the whetting stone that Meara had been using. "Aye, there are things that we have not spoken of. In my anger I forgot what Meara had gone through. But that is her tale to tell. Give her time; the warrior spirit still lives deep within as her little display showed."

The two sisters sat down to a silent meal as each contemplated what the evening's events would show. The past was starting to rear its ugly head and there was great potential for all that they were attempting to accomplish to fall to pieces in a matter of moments.


	6. Glinting Fire

**Wandering Home**

**A/N: **My apologies for this being so late. Things are getting out of control. And my dear muses have decided to abandon me in recent times. But here we are again. Hopefully this is at the same caliber that you all expect. As always, nothing, except the things you don't remember from the movie are mine.

**Chapter 6: Glinting Fire**

As the Grainne and Alannah finished their supper, Grainne could not but help state at the place where Meara had been sitting honing the blade. On the old wooden floor, there were shards of blade and stone in a little pile that glimmered in the candlelight. As the candles flickered, Grainne caught a glimpse of what she knew was the past.

Reflected in the light, she saw herself and Meara as they had been as small children, before Alannah was born. Even at the age of two, Meara had always had a head of fiery curls. In the image, she saw their past selves playing in the stream that had been near their village. Nearby the village boys were wrestling in the shallows. Grainne's present self gave a slight chuckle when she saw little Meara totter off to play with the boys that were years older than she was. 'Ever the fighter' Grainne thought. She saw her younger self run off to her younger sister and attempt to draw her away from the rough playing boys.

"Grainne…Grainne!" Alannah's voice cut through her memory and the pitcher in her hand dropped to the floor and shattered. "Grainne, where is your head at?"

She shook out her auburn locks and drew a hand across her forehead. "Gabh mo leithscéal. I had forgotten myself for a moment."

Alannah took a long look at her sister. "Tis about Meara, is it not?" Grainne refrained from looking her younger sister in the eye. "Ye saw something, didn't ye?"

Grainne gave a stiff nod. Throughout her whole life, Grainne had been trying to deny that she had the Bua na Amharc. Their seanmháthair was the last one to have it. It annoyed Grainne to no end because it had a nasty habit of happening at the least opportune times. Since she never desired training in the arts of the Bua na Amharc, she was forced to deal with it in her own quiet way. "Aye, I saw."

Alannah swept up the shards of the clay pitcher. "Tell me what ye saw. It could be important!"

"Important? How could a scrap of the past be important here? 'Twas not nothing of consequence." Grainne reached for a scrap of cloth to tie back her hair. "Twas only a memory from before ye were born."

A snort of derision from Alannah told Grainne that her little sister did not believe a word she was saying. "Tis truly nothing. The only thing that I learned from this is that we need to let Meara be and get ourselves to bed."

Alannah cast a glance at the door. "What of Meara?"

"She'll return when she wants. She is a grown lass after all."

Meara, on the other hand, was not securely tucked in a bed inside safe walls. With her storm blue cloak wrapped tightly around her, she wandered about the fort, heedless of where she was going. Her mind was raging and she needed something to temper her restlessness.

Another few random turnings brought her to the smithy. The fire was still stoked and roaring invitingly. When she walked closer, the dancing flames reflected in her eyes. Seeing no one about, she lay her cloak safely to the side and donned a scarred leather apron. From her belt, she removed the blade she had filched from the armoury. Holding it tightly with tongs, she heated it deep within the heart of the blaze, waiting for the metal to turn a glowing red. Removing it from the heat, she began to take a hammer to it to create a folded and beaten edge that would never need to be honed on a whetting stone ever again.

Out of view, the forge master, Aedan, watched this young woman, pounding out all of her frustration on the blade she was forging. As he watched, she realized that while she had no formal training, she had quite a knack for smithing. He knew that she was one of the strange newcomers a the fort, and he had also heard the talk that the three sisters were sent her to destroy the fort. He believed none of it.

"Pardon me miss…"

The sound of Aedan's voice over the din of the hammer made Meara give a slight jump.

"Me apologies miss, didn't mean teh a'fright ye." He stepped into the light so Meara could see who was talking to her.

"Who are ye?" she questioned, never once stopping her work.

"I'm Aedan th' forge-master 'round yonder fort. Tis my forge ye'd be usin'." He watched her work on the dirk blade. "Careful now; ye don't want to obliterate yonder blade." He took the hammer from Meara's hand and began to beat the edges out properly. "If'n ye be wantin' a proper beaten edge, ye need teh do dis…" He showed Meara the proper technique of creating an edge.

Always an eager student, she carefully watched the elderly forge-master. The bald spot on the back of his head glistened with sweat in the light of the forge fire. He was a stout man, content to work in his forge until the Goddess decided to claim him once again.

She gave a small laugh as Aedan waddled about the forge area, finishing the blade. "Tis a good blade," he remarked, ignoring the laugh Meara had done. "Twas made in Ireland, I believe, if'n I'm not mistook."

"Aye," Meara said. She was not about to reveal the true origin of the blade. If she did, Arthur was sure to have her head.

"I was watchin' ye earlier, miss, and I took notice o' how ye worked. Ye've got some talent, miss, if I may say so meself." Aedan noticed the slight blush of embarrassment that crept into Meara's cheeks. "How'd ye like the work here as me apprentice? I can teach ye everythin' 'bout bein' a smith. 'Sides, I'm getting' on in years, and not as quick as I once was. I could do with the 'elp anyways."

Meara was astounded by the simple offer. Realizing that this could be the chance of a lifetime, she nodded her head in agreement.

"Brilliant! Ye can start tomorrow at daybreak. Oh, just give me yer name, missy."

"Meara Deirdre O'Cearnaigh of…"

'No need for the full title miss Meara. That'll do."

Upon hearing the crunch of gravel outside of the forge, Meara took the newly finished blade and slung it towards the sound. There was a loud 'thunk' as the blade sunk deeply into a wooden post.

From the shadowy spot where Meara had thrown the blade, Tristan walked forward, a piece of his tunic missing from his shoulder. Taking a bite from the apple in his hand, he quirked an eyebrow at Meara.

"Are ye the one who threw that?" he gestured towards the dirk.

"What of it?" Meara looked at Tristan carefully, trying to determine what game he was trying to play with her.

"Next time ye throw a blade, take better aim." With a wry smirk, he added, "Ye failed to kill me, missy." Taking another bite out of his apple, he turned away and walked back towards the Knights barracks.

Meara spun around and looked at Aedan, questions behind her eyes. Aedan gave a soft chuckle. "'E's a strange one, that scout. Always creeping about all silent like. Aye, but 'e's deadly on a battlefield." Aedan gave Meara a pat on the shoulder. "Don't fret, missy. In Tristan language, that was him sayin', 'On your break tomorrow, meet me out in the practice yard so I can teach ye properly.'"

"He wants to teach me?"

"Aye, an' consider yerself lucky at this chance too, missy. Tis not everyday Tristan offers to teach strangers 'is deadly arts."

Outside, the wall guard called out "Midnight and all's well."

"Ye best get home, missy. Ye be needin' yer sleep If ye're going teh work at sunrise. Off ye go."

Grabbing her cloak and the dirk, Meara nearly skipped back home. She found her two sisters still awake and around the hearth sipping tea.

"Siurs, I have the best of news!" Meara danced about the room, unable to control her excitement. It was a drastic change from the dark mood she had been in earlier that night. "I've got meself a smithy job! I'm starting at sunrise tomorrow. See what the forge-master Aedan taught me tonight." She proudly showed off the beaten edge on the stolen dirk. Meara became a little more subdued when she began to relate her other bit of news. "While I was at the forge, I slung this blade at Tristan who was lurking in the shadows. He told me that he wants to teach me to be a better handler of weapons. Well, not in so many words, but that's what he told me."

Grainne and Alannah were dumbfounded at the change in their sister. But since she was displaying some of her normal characteristics, they were not as worried as they could have been.

"This is wonderful news, siur," Grainne said. "Now, if you would kindly shut the door and get to bed, I think we all would appreciate it."

Meara gave Grainne a playful shove. "Aye, máthair," she teased. Gathering up the things she had strewn about on her arrival, she went off to the bed chamber that all three sisters shared.

"She seems better," Alannah remarked.

"Aye, she does. The Knight Tristan is in for a surprise tomorrow on the practice field. Mayhap we should warn him?"

"And miss out on the show of a lifetime? I say nay! I'd rather watch such a spectacle. T'would be good fun."

"Aye, ye be right there. I know, we'll take the day off from our chores and pack a picnic lunch for the practice field."

With a conspiratorial laugh, the other two sisters went off to join their sister in sleep.

**Gaelic lesson of the Day:**

Gabh mo leithscéal – I'm sorry

Bua na Amharc – Gift of Sight

Seanmháthair - grandmother

Máthair - mother


End file.
